


Simply Celeste

by Cypher_DS



Category: Huniepop & Huniecam (Video Games)
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Sex, Aliens, Bounty Hunters, Established Relationship, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian Sex, Lesbians in Space, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2019-10-29 03:16:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17800061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cypher_DS/pseuds/Cypher_DS
Summary: As a notorious interstellar bounty hunter, Celeste Luvendass has traveled far and wide across the known galaxy, visiting countless star systems and their wondrous civilizations. So when the pressures of her work begin to overwhelm the alien hunter, why does she desire nothing more than to visit a primitive, backwater world like the Earth? A story of finding home in the most unlikely of people.





	1. The Galaxy

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, HunieFans! Trying out something way different with this 'day in the life' story. Future chapters will be a little more 'down to Earth', if you catch my drift and feature more familiar faces. Enjoy!

_Pa na isho, how is this local star so bright?_

I can feel my eyelids dragging as I haul my latest quarry down the shambling central road of Torvus-III’s mining colony. I have long since tuned out his insectoid screeching and I’ve grown to ignore the stares of onlookers wondering why I am pulling a sentient being through the gravel like a blue-skinned pack animal. 

_Thoughts of blue… thoughts of blue…_

There’s a rock up ahead.  I make sure my prey’s head thunks across it, hoping the pain will shut his wretched mandibles for a micran _._   All I desire is to collect my reward and be done with this desert world of jagged mountains, dried-out canyons and endless, merciless sunlight.

 _S’kaba, why must they all conduct their business under this wretched, blinding daylight?_ Some days I think Tendricide produced the only nocturnal society in this entire blasted galaxy.

There are times when I am convinced my work as a bounty hunter does a service to the galaxy. Ridding star systems of dangerous criminals, bringing hope to the downtrodden. Then there are times such as these where not even thoughts of crystal blue skies, sparkling blue water and precious blue hair can sustain me.

I spot another rock and this time I jog over it.

I loathe these criminals and how predictable they are.  I loathe how they struggle, I detest how they refuse to admit defeat with dignity.

More than anything, I despise the bargaining they attempt.

My latest capture is a Mantid from the Yar’pra system. At a glance, his appearance suggests a battle-hardened warrior: an exoskeleton of green, insectoid armor, bulbous eyes and clawed forearms ending in organic blades two _cha_ in length.  Those scythe-like digits could easily bisect me if not for the energy manacles I applied to lash his upper appendages behind his back.  By all accounts, Mantids are a species to inspire terror.

In reality, Skulkz Da’Chan is as spineless and quivering as the jellied organs that fill his carapace.

Upon passing through the automated doors of the local law enforcement office – a white and sterile environment befitting a cleansing organization – my quarry realizes he has until the front desk to plea for his life.

"Please! They practice the death penalty in this system! Hand me in on another planet! Not here!"

"Be silent," I command. How is a creature that sobs and mewls so pathetically known as the Bloody Lover?  "You murdered six sentient females after using them for intimacy." Taking his life was the minimum repayment.

"I'm only practicing my people's cultural beliefs! After we mate, you consume your lover's head and entrails to nourish the younglings-to-be!"

That statement stops me in my tracks. "I have researched your species, and it is the _females_ who are meant to devour _your_ male head."

Skulkz scoffs back with what I can only describe as 'sass'.

"Oh sure, fall back on the old cultural stereotypes! Maybe not all males are submissive little snacks, did you think about that?"

I merely continue dragging him towards the reception counter, so he switches tactics. "Whatever they're paying, I'll double – no, triple it! I can pay, I can pay!"

"Oh, you _shall_ pay." Of that, I am certain.

As we approach the front desk, Skulkz begins flailing in earnest. In my frustration I’ve stepped too close and one of his bladed claws catches my abdomen. Wincing, I seize him by the back of the skull and bash his carapaced head into the wall – once, twice. Then I drag him to the receptionist’s counter and slam his head down for an even third. The fight leaves his body, as does much of his consciousness.

The clerk glances up from his data pad. The elderly, antennae-sprouting Nemian is unfazed by my arrival, but the smear of fluids on his workspace leaves him less than impressed. A broom-like moustache snorts in my direction. From under my hood, I mop my brow and state my claim.

"I am collecting the bounty on the Bloody Lover."

The clerk swivels to his computer terminal. "Identification number?"

Beneath my hood, I scowl.  While Torvus-III may be an isolated system, surely these outer territory colonists should recognize me on sight! I _am_ wearing my signature combat uniform, am I not? A purple Gin-tak bodysuit with black armor? The telltale hood raised over my face, revealing only sickled horns and whips of silver hair? With a hint of indignation, I growl the terrible alias I have spent years cultivating, the grim title that has sent countless criminal syndicates into hiding.

"I am she who hunts her prey to the grave. I am the _Koru-Shikai._ "

The clerk stares blankly. I try again.

“The Night Wraith?”

"Yeah, the system doesn't accept made up names. Identification number."

"Hunter 84627," I grumble.

"Thank you," he replies, and goes about accessing my profile with the hunter's guild. "All right, Number 84627, I've made a log of your capture. A sum of 21,000 datari will be transferred to your account. Please submit your retinal scan at the terminal for confirmation."

A robotic eye-sphere pops up from a compartment, but I ignore it. "Twenty one thousand? There has been a mistake. The Bloody Lover is valued at 30,000 datari."

"Twenty one thousand," the clerk chirps back, still in complete disinterest. "That's including guild fees, local system taxes, and a small penalty sum for in-house cleaning." His eyes scowl at Skulkz and the cranial fluid I've left puddling on his counter.

"Cleaning fees? This is outrageous!" From his resting spot on the desk, Skulkz rasps a final plea.

"40,000… I can pay… I can – GLAK!" Another head slam against the desk shuts him up. I turn to the officer.

"This is a gross violation of guild policy. When I speak to the local guild master, he will –"

"I _am_ the local guild master," the officer replies, and a tap at his wrist-top computer flashes an ID hologram confirming that not only is he the system's guild representative, he is also the commander in chief of planetary security and chief judge of the Torvus-III courts.

Also the local barber.

"A small colony," I observe.

"A small colony," the magistrate nods back, "and we do not take kindly to off-worlders who act as though they are above our laws and customs. Now, Hunter 84627 –"

"The _Koru-Shik-"_

" _Hunter 84627,_ " he interrupts, "You can accept the offered reward or I can have you arrested for kidnapping and public assault. Make your decision quickly, because if you drip any further body fluids on my carpeting, I'll add a second cleaning fee."

I follow his glance to my mid-section, notice the gash left by Skulkz flailing claw, dark and damp against my uniform. A steady drip of blood is leaking through the fabric. I quickly press my palm against the wound and the pain begins to register.

The magistrate notes my delayed reaction.

"A creature in your line of work must have her methods of coping with pain, but for your information, nerve suppressors are banned substances on this world."

My mind whirrs in calculation. It was two megrons ago that I popped the flavored stick of anesthetic under my tongue. Unless I seek immediate treatment, it will take less than ten micrans for my body to fully appreciate the wound left by the Bloody Lover.

Growling, I submit to the retinal scan.

Before leaving, I seize Skulkz’s cranium and give him a final parting slam. Now unconscious, his body slumps to the floor.

I hope he leaves a stain.

* * *

Exiting the station, my thoughts converge on a single objective. _Pharmacy. I require a pharmacy._

Thankfully, this settlement is not so isolated that their storefronts would neglect the universal symbols and signage for medical dispensaries. I push my way through the automated doors and stumble down the aisles for gauze and disinfectant patches. The clerk – another Nemian with dangling antennae - is alarmed by my hurried snatching of supplies but relaxes when I dump my collection on his counter rather than absconding.

"Locate everything you needed?" he smiles, willfully blind to the blood pooling from my abdomen.

The fluid loss makes my eyes rove deliriously over his counter and my hand impulsively snatches a glucose supplement bar. I like the brand and after this debacle I have earned the small splurge.

"Add it on," I pant, opening the wrapper with my teeth and tearing into the synthetic treat like a starved beast.

"Of course, of course. Let's see… do have your house armband with you? No? No problem whatsoever, I can put this on account. What household do you volunteer with?"

 _Household?_ _Volunteer?_ I slap my currency card on the counter. "I am paying in datari."

The clerk rears back as though I've offered him a severed arm. "Put that away," he hisses. "You know the rules: everything goes on account! If your household is granting you a stipend, that's their business, but I can't accept money from … from your kind."

 _My kind?_ Already delirious from the pain, my mind scrambles to identify what prejudiced group I might identify with. Bounty hunters? Off-worlders? Females? But before I can clarify these local customs, the automated door chimes with the entry of another customer, and my breath hitches.

Another Norai.

Blue skin, golden eyes and white hair framing a modest pair of horns. Cloven feet clack from beneath her brown skirt. That is where our resemblance ends. Where I am dressed for combat, this female conceals herself in the humblest and most threadbare of robes. Where my arms are knotted with muscle, this one is thin and frail; strong enough only to complete household chores.  Her face bows, meek and submissive.

My eyes glower.  Whereas my forearm is laced with battle scars, hers is branded with a mechanical, twelve-digit number, not unlike the inventory codes etched into the plating of a spaceship or a handgun. A serial number for tracking inventory.

This female is a clone, bred in illegal cloning vats for the sole purpose of being sold as a laborer.

She is also in a hurry, pushing her way to the counter with the urgency of a trained dog on its master's beck and call.

"Kosoko-kangai, Katan-da. The lady of the house requires these synthetic kloi oils." As she hands over the vials for purchase, she raises her forearm for inspection, flashing a black wristband engraved with the symbol of a local clan. The clerk - Katan - smiles kindly and logs her purchase, business as usual.

This scene – its utter normalcy. My pride refuses to abide it silently.

"Slavery of sentient beings is prohibited by the Galactic Confederacy!"

The pharmacist stares dumbfounded, but then his antennae light up in revelation. "Ahh, an off-worlder. I thought you were … but never mind. She's not a slave, though. She's been adopted into the Kotar household."

"As a domestic servant," I counter. "Without money or funds of her own." My tirade sends the pharmacist into a deep sigh.

"We are not a wealthy system. We abided by the slavery prohibition, released all of our stock… I mean, laborers," he corrects quickly, "but … well, you know how clones are – docile, eager to please, in desperate need of structure and command. We tried setting them loose, letting them start up their own households and businesses. It was a disaster. They couldn't think for themselves. And where were they supposed to go? This isn't a cold climate world; we can't all afford transport off-world."

His explanation falls on deaf and disgusted ears.

_He thought I was a slave. He thought I was one of them._

"Purchased slaves, adopted servants – the names are meaningless! You've robbed them of their freedom, you've –"

The female coughs for attention. "P-pardon me," she stammers, "but I do need to return with my purchase. The lady of the house awaits. Friend, if you have lost your armband, my lady will kindly pay for your purchases as well. I … oh!"

The female wilts before the fury of my stare. So pathetic, so weak-willed. For the countless species of the Galactic Confederacy, these cloned effigies - grown from the genes of Norai harvested by poachers decades ago - are all they have ever known of my people. They are all they assume I can be.

" _Kaba,_ you make me sick!"

Impulsively, my hand flies across the counter, swiping my medical pads to the floor. The single yelp from the female is delightfully vindicating.

Snarling, I flash my datari card across the pay-scanner. I’ll settle account for the nutrient bar but I will not take his medical supplies.

I will not take their pity.

* * *

Weary and losing blood by the micran, I hobble in search of the only other business with universal signage.

The bar.

A few patrons glance my way when I stumble through the sheet-metal doors, but I am quickly forgotten in favor of their drinks and the on-stage performance. Interesting … besides fermented beverages, the establishment also offers female entertainment.

I pull up my hood and limp to a booth at the back of the dimly lit hall, far away from the other patrons and the dancers on stage flaunting their assets on the reduced-gravity platforms. The air reeks like Slovarian sheddings. I would feel little surprise to learn that the crunch under my hooves is dead skin and droppings. It is a disgusting establishment, but the beverages are cheap and no one takes umbrage when I seize fistfuls of cleaning rags from the servers to press against my blood-soaked side.

Ten standard micrans later, my body slumps back in the booth’s artificial leather while two grimy bottles sit atop my table. I lean forward and pour the first into my glass. The cool water soothes my bitter throat. The second, I tip over into a dirty rag and press against my wound. The alcohol burns but it is an adequate disinfectant.  Once I have confirmed that my wound has coagulated, I make a proper scan of my surroundings.

The patrons represent a variety of bipedal species from across the galaxy but the servers are - what shock - all Norai. The clones are male and female alike, all tottering around on their hooves like well-trained animals at the beck of their genetically-programmed obedience.

At least this establishment offers some opportunity for advancement. Many of the drinkers are off-world pilots or traders and they toss over monetary tips to the speediest of the servers, who nod thankfully and tuck the datari in their robes. I can only hope some of them have the self-interest to pocket the money rather than handing it over to the owner at the end of their shift.

The loudspeakers announce a new dancer upon the stage and my eyes light up. A Norai female, sashaying about in a visor, thin veils and little else.

Her movements are breathtaking.

The rhythmic flick of her hips, the shameless way she caresses her body and spins her thin coverings. Her horns, which loop a full two circles, are weighed down with beads and jewels that jingle and sing as she bobs her head.

I'm intrigued, to say the least.

I tap my currency card against the table's pay scanner, sending her a sizable tip. On her visor’s tactical display, I can make out a flashing arrow indicating the direction of her most generous patron. She twists a final time for the audience, then saunters down one of the floating catwalks into the crowd to offer her investor a more generous view.

" _Kos kan,_ " she whispers, sweet and melodious. Enveloped in shadows, I nod back.

For a moment, all is bliss as she crawls forward onto my table to entertain, a desirous smile illuminating her face. I lean forward to offer her a drink and my hood slips away, revealing what I am.

Female.

She maintains her smile – admirable stage training – but the revulsion in her eyes is clear. She nods politely, then adjusts her dance to begin backtracking to the main stage. When she passes a fellow dancer, I can see the flick of her head in my direction and I can read the disgusted whisper on her lips:

" _Sleiba."_

Sometimes I wonder if my people's disgust for same-sex couplings runs throughout our very genes.  I pour myself another shot of water, sulking until a new voice joins my table, ‘tssking’ at my sorry state.

"Rejected by a prostitute, and a cloned one too - bred and raised for submission. That must sting."

This patron, he's seen my face, identified my species. I'm too tired to explain myself, so I simply roll my eyes. "My household master would not appreciate me volunteering my time with you."

"Play-acting the role of a slave? Come now, we both know the _Koru-Shikai_ answers to no master."

 _He knows my alias?_ My body shifts to high alert, but the minute I sit up, a laser pistol jams into the side of my skull. I curse myself for lowering my guard so foolishly.

Holding my body in place, I glance quickly at my assailant and my eyes fly open. The sight of a Cephalodrome is enough to revolt any species: fat-bellied, lard-stuffed slugs oozing across the galaxy on their slime-encrusted tails, four greedy, tentacled hands forever slithering into females’ personal space, stalk-mounted eyes eternally leering as they smack their lecherous, greasy lips as though the galaxy is an open banquet to them.

I’m stunned because I recognize this Cephalodrome.  The rough stubble beneath his mouth, the scar across his nostrils and that garish _Bri-tan_ jacket in hideous neon orange and purple.  There is only one Cephalodrome so high on his own ego to dress in such hideous fashion.

“Xerbo?  Xerbo of the Sang-Xi syndicate?”

“In the flesh.”

 _And lard,_ I think, wincing at his overpowering halitosis.  “I collected your bounty five standard revolutions ago!  You should be rotting in a Confederacy penal colony!”

"I should, and I am," Xerbo laughs. "I cloned myself!"

Only then do I notice the serial number on his upper-left tentacle and the computer implant at the base of his eyestalk. "Memory data-implants,” I surmise. “The last, pathetic attempt of a creature whose body is doomed."

"Pathetic? Pah! At least my people didn't run me off my home world for sexual deviancy.”

I change topic, gesturing with my head to his data implant. "So, how much do you remember?"

"Far enough that I remember what you did to my limbs!”  Xerbo’s weaponless tentacles lash the air, eager for vengeance.  “Now move. The owner here is a friend of mine, so I'll do him the courtesy of not filthying his floor with your blood."

I stand obediently, and as I step from the booth I attempt to retrieve my bottle. Xerbo jams the gun between my shoulder blades.

"If I'm to be executed, then I will take my last drink."

"Move, Tendricite!" Xerbo pistol-whips me across the back of the head while a free tentacle snatches the bottle for himself. My skull is ringing but the painful display went as I planned. Exactly the distraction I required to key in a command on my wrist-top console.

 _Two micrans,_ I think.

Xerbo shoves me out a back service entrance. No one reacts to my hostage taking. After all, who would spare concern for a disobedient slave girl?

I chuckle. "What a pathetic master you are – raising a gun at your own slave."

Xerbo strikes my skull again, forcing me to my knee while he leers.

"You think you're so clever, don't you? I know you sent a signal through your wrist-top. I know you're stalling for time until your ship arrives, guns blazing. Look around you, Tendricite: we're in a narrow alleyway, not even room enough for a speeder, never mind a personal space vessel. You're wasting your time."

"All very true, but you are forgetting one crucial thing,"

"And that is?"

I grin.

"My ship's cognition is an idiot."

On cue, the alleyway explodes into brick and rubble.

A silver, sharp-nosed space vessel crashes its way into the narrow crevice, thrusters burning at top speed. Like a Tendricide rak-beast demolishing a path through icy mountains, the ship is unstoppable.  Sickle-wings rake through the walls of the bar and neighbouring building as though they were merely fabric – bursting pipes, heaving rubble and sending up a tidal wave of concrete from the ground.

 _The Wraith’s Wings_ \- my ship, my mobile base and my partner in destruction.

Xerbo has time enough for a final squeal before the front nose of the _Wraith_ plows him off his belly and throws him into the far wall like a gelatinous puss-bomb.  I duck the worst of his splattered entrails, managing just a wet glob on my shoulder that I whip off immediately.

My ship’s entry ramp falls off its hinges and Cogni pokes her robotic eye stalk out the entrance. _"Kosoko kangai, Ki-Celeste._ You requested evacuation?"

"You're late," I grumble to the AI construct, hopping over the strewn rubble.

"Local system speeding laws prohibit vessels from travelling faster than 50 cha per micran."

"Local system laws also prohibit vessels from parking inside business establishments,” I counter.  My hands gesture to the two buildings Cogni’s ship body has decisively torn to rubble, to the screaming patrons fleeing for the exits like mindless insects.

Cogni drawls, lost in paradox.  “Ohhh…”

“A stellar error,” I assure her. “The service was horrendous.”

Shaking her eye in a refresh loop, Cogni gestures towards the pink smear on the back wall. "Sooo, did we kill someone?"

"Just a clone," I shrug as I hop towards the ramp. "Get us into orbit and scrub this planet off the nav-com."

"We will not be welcome here again?"

"Not in a thousand revolutions," I confirm. Before boarding, I reflexively unclip the projector sphere on my belt and pose for a holo-pic, the rubble-strewn bar and Xerbo's slime serving as my backdrop. A fine reminder to never visit this backwater system, not even for thirty thousand datari.

Lastly, I sift through the rubble to collect my bottle. I bring the water to my lips like a long-lost lover.

Ah. How cruel.

It's the alcohol.

* * *

On board, I strip out of my damaged battle gear and lay on the medical stretcher to have my wound properly sealed. Or as properly as a half-faulty cognition can manage. More than anything, I desire to shower and scrub the filth and prejudice of Torvus-III from my memories but the _Wraith’s_ water reservoir has only ten seconds worth of liquid, and it is _hot_.

I take what I can get.

My mind is an echo chamber ringing with names: _Koru-Shikai,_ Hunter 84627, Tendricite, sleiba, slave. 

The noise is maddening.

I need to retreat, to find sanctuary.

"Cogni – plot a course for the Sol system. Fastest warp vector."

"Ki-Celeste, we are going to Earth?"

"Yes,” I affirm, my mind already alight with visions of crystal blue skies, sparkling blue water and precious blue hair.

“We are going home.”


	2. The Earth

Earth.

No matter how many times I gaze upon the blue world, the sight never fails to steal my breath - a jewel of ethereal blue illuminating the dark void. Once, it rekindled only cruel memories of Tendricide, my home world. Now, every glimpse warms my chest with anticipation.

The anticipation of returning home.

My fingers dance across the control consoles in well-rehearsed motions - powering up the visual refraction system, initiating thermal dampeners and entering coordinates for orbital descent. I surge deeper into the atmosphere until the clouds part into a vista of lush, green continents dotted with gleaming cityscapes.

The vegetation is deceptive – Earth is a desert world of inhospitable heat. Yet despite its dangers, this planet does host an unimaginable paradise: oceans. My heartbeat hammers expectantly as  _The Wraith's Wings_  holds position over an endless expanse of sparkling, blue water. The entry ramp barely opens halfway when my endurance breaks and I charge, plunging headfirst into the refreshing coolness.

_ Such bliss!  _ As a youngling on Tendricide, the largest body of water I had known was a steel tub filled for bathing during the summer thaw. To be embraced by water in such abundance...  _Pa na isho_ , this is paradise! Yet a far greater ecstasy awaits me beyond the ocean. Ensuring that my supply bag remains tethered to my body, I begin my swim to shore. As per routine, Cogni pilots the ship underwater to await further instructions.

I choose a rocky shoreline away from habitation as my point of entry. Wading ashore, I hold my palm towards the Earth's star and follow the beads of water run down my forearm. Deca-revolutions ago, my tribe-mates and I would make a game of dipping our fingers into melted ice and seeing whose droplets would run the farthest down bare skin before freezing into white beads. Here on Earth, it is a game of evaporation and the so-called 'Sun' claims every round.

Under such heat, I would be wise not to linger.

Once dry, I don my camouflage. First, a series of metal bands over my limbs and body – holo plates that will project a skin-tight visual matrix to render me indistinguishable from the local species. Over my newly creamy-pink flesh, I don native clothing to protect my skin from the tropical heat - a wide-brimmed 'sun hat', a black eye visor and a 'pon-cho' to shield my arms and chest.

_ Her  _ sent still lingers over these clothes. I inhale deeply and the musk spurs me to complete my journey.

I chart my path into a residential zone of high-rise communal towers. At the ground-level front doors, security is disabled via a meticulously-crafted shard of metal I hang around my neck like a pendant. A twist of this 'key' into a gear-based locking mechanism grants me entry.

My hooves gallop up the stairs.

At the appropriate hallway, I barrel towards a memorized door, hands trembling as I disengage the security bolt. I must be inside! Fighting the restless tap of my hooves, I pause and initiate the human ritual of "naw-king" to announce my presence.

"Kos-kan! I have returned!"

The apartment is a welcoming darkness. Under the purple, ultraviolet lighting panels, I may finally shed my cumbersome human clothing and black visor. My eyes may finally relax.

And there I see her, pale skin illuminating the darkness like the purest moonlight – a small and delicate human female with shocking, ocean-blue hair. The sight of her strikes my heart like a bolt of plasma.

"Nicole!"

"Celeste? Celeste!" With a smile that sparkles like the ice fields of Tendricide, my chiletto tackles me in a hug. I'm quick enough to pivot and absorb her affection on my undamaged flank.

"Oh god, I missed you!"

"It has been too long," I agree.

I cup her chin and press our lips together in a show of human affection. Her mouth opens and I take her tongue with my own, rolling our wet muscles together like excited younglings. My tongue trails aside, lapping at her cheeks and neck to taste the salt of her skin.  _What relief!_  When last I departed, the onset of a sudden illness had left her skin bitter and dry. I'm relieved to find her taste not only newly healthy but spiked with arousal.

"I missed you," she whispers. "You said this would be a quick job."

"Skulkz proved a persistent target but I claimed my bounty."

"You didn't get hurt?"

"Hardly," I lie, puffing up a warrior's bravado. "Your Valkyrie is not so easily bested. Have you longed for me, chiletto?"

"Um, is Mario an Italian plumber?"

Another non-literal expression, impenetrable as  _chiss-nak_  armor. Yet her meaning becomes all too clear once she embraces me. Under the moist Earth air, I feel the medical glue sealing my abdomen stretch and strain.  _Kaba._ I pray to the seven stars that I can contain my chiletto's wandering hands…

* * *

 

Nicole Ann-Marie. A human "wage slave" from the continent of Northern Ahmurica. She is a historian among her people, collecting and preserving long-forgotten or "retro" works of electronic art. An artist herself, she is known among select circles as the Lady Sapphire, master of the visual genre known as "foo-ree porn". Like myself, she is an outsider within her culture, forever questioning long-accepted truths and exposing conspiracies laid down by those in power. Her gaze is ever to the stars, towards truths beyond her people's primitive understandings.

When I first arrived on this world, tracking a rogue bounty, Nicole served as my guide to the Earth’s alien landscapes. As we explored her human settlement together, our fascination with one another grew until I came to treasure and trust her as one of my few confidantes. A friend. Now, she is my chiletto -  _my songbird_. My irreplaceable mate.

Nicole seats me on her couch while she prepares beverages: ice water, the glasses frosted and perspiring at my touch. "It is cool in here," I note, observing the blocky row of air-cooling fans thrumming against the far wall. "Have you maintained this lowered temperature during my entire absence?"

Nicole flushes slightly. "Cogni texted me when you hit the atmo. I kinda cranked the AC."

A surprise spoiled. I'll have words with my cognition when I return to my ship. Yet, my chiletto's provocative dress may very well spare Cogni.

"Did you select those garments for me?" I inquire. My chiletto prefers loose fabrics and 'sweh-ters' large enough to fall off her shoulders. Now, however, she adorns herself in uncharacteristically form-fitting garments: white shorts that cling to buttocks and a skin-tight 'tanked top' that scoops up her breasts and tantalizes with flashes of her stomach. My throat purrs as I drink in her thighs, squeezed by the hem of her shorts.

"Umm, maybe?" Between her dodging eyes and sheepish grin, her words hold no iota of 'maybe'. "Um, I like your armor."

"Thank you." In truth, my  _gi-tak_  bodysuit with its plate metal coverings is somewhat uncomfortable for lounging but I know how madly my chiletto adores me as a warrior. The fact that I have peeled open the front zipper, baring my blue skin from my breasts down past my navel undoubtedly contributes to the compliment.

"Hey, go easy on Cogni, okay? I kinda gave her the idea to call ahead. I just … wanna make sure you're comfortable when you arrive. Sometimes, well, when you leave on these hunting trips, sometimes I worry that you won't come back. That you'll find someone worth staying for out there."

The steady thrum of the air cooling units fills the room. We sip our drinks in silence.

"I did encounter an old acquaintance on this mission." I spare her the details of how Xerbo pointed a laser pistol at my skull. "We parted on poor terms. I may have caused some irreparable property damage."

Nicole levels a familiar shake of the head. "Another system off the nav-comm?"

"Merely an outer territory mining colony. Nothing worth returning to." My thoughts flit to the dancer. "Though I did meet other Norai there..."

"Y-you did?"

"Slaves. Clones," I explain. "All of them so weak, so thoughtless and prejudiced."

"Mmh. I kinda had a crappy time too. I mean, it's not like you where it's life or death but …"

She drifts off, mumbling in her doubting, self-conscious manner. I prod her onward.

"Well I was fighting this raid boss and my guild had to team up with a couple other parties for extra aggro. Not gonna lie, we got our asses handed to us. But these other guys? They got so tilted, telling me it was my guild's fault - that I should 'git gud or eff off', like I'm not pulling three hours every day min-maxing this character!

"I dunno, I guess one of them saw the pride flag on my profile and he started griefing hard, saying it was all my fault, that I should go burn in hell, that I was a … a damn, dirty les-"

I thread my arm around my chiletto, pulling her into an embrace. Grateful, she nestles close.

"People really suck, y'know?"

" _Mugunash dan na tsuroi t'choso_ ," I quote in Galactic standard. " _Despair is the company of others._ "

I nuzzle her forehead. "That is why I feel so blessed to have you, chiletto."

Nicole whines theatrically under the cloying affection. "Staahp…"

"If I may return to you, comfort you … I am relieved."

"Thanks…"

"I brought you a gift," I add. Her eyes sparkle. "During my walk, I diverted to one of your open-air produce markets and made a purchase with the currency you'd provided. I found the favored fruit you've long since mentioned."

"Grapes?” Her eyes sparkle. “No way, you bought me -?"

From my satchel, I reveal the firm, orange melons. My chiletto is speechless.

"Um… grapefruit?"

"Affirmative! I was unsure at first but the vendor assured me that these were the 'grape-of-fruits' you so delight in." Such a marvelous planet – capable of bearing edible seeds in such a multitude of sub-species colours, sizes  _and_  structures! Nicole continues her stunned appraisal of my gift. "Grape … fruit…"

Then she beams like a newborn star.

"You are awesome! Thank you, Celeste."

"There is more." I reach further into my satchel, revealing several silver-foiled ration packets. "Will you accompany me for a 'camp out'?"

* * *

 

We position Nicole's chairs in an arch and drape a white bedsheet overtop to serve as our tent. Nicole supplies the cooking pot and water while I pour in the dried rations and apply heat with a laser torch. My chiletto watches the bubbling concoction with glee.

"So awesome – I still can't believe I'm eating actual space food! From another planet!"

I chuckle at our method of meal preparation. No civilized space-farer bothers to liquidate or heat carbo-sachets as instructed, preferring the quick and easy method of eating them solid – straight from the packet. "They are staple rations," I explain. "The default meal of any datari-conscious interplanetary merchant or transporter."

And yet … seeing Nicole's delight, I cannot help but recall my youth on Tendricide, how Celara and I would scavenge the ruined cities for days, prying scrap metal and ancient electronics to trade with the off-world soldiers for these exact same meal packets. How we would gleefully rush under a snowbank to ignite a fire and prepare our hard-earned 'alien' cuisine.

I've subsided on these joyless 'nutrients' for revolutions without complaint – a dull and perfunctory sustenance. And yet... eating the pasty stew with my Nicole floods my taste buds with long-forgotten flavors and joys. I can appreciate its taste once more.

Naturally, a generous dollop of her human sauces does wonders.

"Geez, you're like a little kid, squeezing all that ketchup in your bowl. You know it's just tomatoes, sugar and red-54 dye." She chews thoughtfully and I catch her eyes retreating in memory. "Y'know... I used to pour ketchup over my food when I was a little kid. My mom would get so upset –  _Nicole Ann-Marie, you’re rotting your teeth_  – but that was how they got me to eat all my veggies…”

Smiling fondly, Nicole in turn douses her stew bowl with red sauce. Her next spoonful is devoured with a gleeful squeal.

“Mmhh!Ith’s shoo ghood!”

* * *

 

For dessert, I unsheathe my combat knife and select the largest of the grapes. Nicole interjects.

"We can save those…"

"Nonsense. I desire to enjoy these fruits with you." I slice through the outer husk, letting the juices dribble over my palm. I bring my fingers to my mouth and –

Nicole winces alongside me.  _Acrid! Bitter!_

"Nicole … these are not grapes."

"Um, kinda, yeah... I mean … No. They're not."

"But the merchant, he assured me –"

" _Grapefruit_ , Celeste. It's totally different."

"But the nomenclature!"

"Yeah, it's... kinda weird, I know."

I give a defeated sigh. "Chiletto, you must inform me of these errors."

"I know, I know. I just … you came so far and I didn't want to disappoint you."

I deflate. "I had so longed to feed you grapes."

Nicole chews her lip in thought. "Um, maybe you still could. Hang on a sec."

She retreats to her kitchen, returning with a glass container filled with purple gelatin. The human labeling is indecipherable to me."It's grape jelly," Nicole explains.

She opens the jar and a sweetly-sticky scent tickles my olfactory senses.  _Grapes!_  Compressed into a preservative paste, of course! But rather than retrieve a serving utensil, my Nicole dips her fingers into the gelatin. Blushing madly, she holds up her smeared digits in offering.

“If you want … we could … y’know…”

Her intent is all too clear. Drawing my bangs aside, I cup her hand and take her fingers inside my mouth, lapping my tongue at the gelatin-slathered warmth.Nicole giggles and squeals. I am transfixed.The sweetness of the jelly ... the salt of my beloved's skin underneath….  _Pa na isho_ , the flavor!I swallow her down to her knuckles and set my tongue to clean every nook and cranny of my Nicole's digits, spurred on by her every delighted gasp. When her freshly-cleaned fingers slide out with a wet 'pop', it is my Nicole who's left breathless.

"Oh wow..."

While she recovers from the sensual rush, I take the jar and plunge my own fingers into the jelly, offering them in return.Nicole holds my massive palm in her slender fingers, looking up at me like an uneasy youngling offered an entire kloi tree trunk. Her lips, teeth and tongue hover over my first knuckle. I purr as the warm, rhythmic breath shudders over my nails.

When Nicole snaps down on me, I flinch.  _Teeth!_  Her teeth, clamping into my skin! S-so hard, s-so …  _good!_

_ "S'hokay?"  _ my chiletto asks with her mouth full, looking up at me with an adorable nervousness:  _Is this acceptable? Am I pleasing to you?_

My hoof raps impatiently against the floor.  _Yes! Yes, more!_

Little yips of pleasure sputter from my throat as Nicole’s bite holds my fingers in place, sucking and slurping hungrily until my tips are bare. She takes me up to my second knuckle, then the third, scraping her top teeth across my skin while her tongue, soft and wet, massages the undersides of my digits. Her head bobs up and down my fingers, searching for remnants of jam to lick up; deeper every time until her lips are at the joint of my palm and she gags slightly, forced to disengage.

"Um ... so yeah..." She coughs, sheepish once more. Her tongue licks up the leftover jam encircling her lips. My throat growls like an overcharged hyperdrive.

"Chiletto… I never realized you could be so  _erotic_." My praise and adoration only send her retreating further.

"Well, I um … kinda, while you were away, went browsing on some dating websites. Y'know, getting ideas and tips for … foreplay."

" _Forrr-play_?" I tilt my head in theatrical obliviousness. "I am unfamiliar with this human term."

"Celeste! I’ve explained it before..." She whines self-consciously but I insist.

"Again. Describe it to me, this 'forrr-play'."

"Um, well… Foreplay is when you do stuff with your … partner – y'know, dirty talk, touching – to get them in the mood for - um -"

" _Sex?_ " I draw out the syllable as I draw my lips across my chiletto's earlobe. "Do you desire to mate with me, chiletto? To be pleasured by me? To  _have_   _sex_  with me?"

Nicole closes her eyes and shudders. "Ohh yeah."

I lick my lips and enjoy her heavy breathing, following the rise and fall of her breasts as my fingertips trace the contours of her neck, her collarbone, her chest. My fingers hook into the hemline of her top, easing the fabric downward to admire the lovely depths of her cleavage. "Mmh, my beautiful Nicole..."

"Celeste…" With needy panting, Nicole fumbles the thin shirt straps from her shoulders, urging me to explore.

Untethered from her shoulders, the white garment slips easily with every downward pluck of my fingers. Loosened from their casings, her breasts drop downward and apart until I can just glimpse the rosy blush of her areoles.

Nicole's hands scrape at my thighs, goading me onward.

I lean forward -

A wet pain rips through my side.  _S'kaba, not now!_  The surgical gel!

"Celeste? Omigod, Celeste, you're bleeding!"

* * *

 

There is no sexual inhibitor quite as fast-acting as the sight of blood-oozing knife wounds. Restored to reason, Nicole pulls me into her kitchen and begins emergency triage. Seated on a kitchen stool, I bite down on my hand, fighting back every wince as Nicole sutures my wound with a metal needle and thin string. Taking metal sheers and cutting off the excess twine, she declares her work finished.

"There, that aughta do it.If my mom ever knew why I asked to join her sewing group…"

"It feels solid," I remark, stretching my arm to test. Not simply solid but elegant as well. I admire the crisscrossing X's lining my side, as though a fine ribbon has been stenciled into my skin.

"Celeste, you need to tell me when you've been hurt on the job."

"Forgive me, I did not wish to worry you unnecessarily."

"Were you just planning to keep your top on all night? I'm not dumb, I'd figure it out."

"Hmm, perhaps I intended to bind your wandering hands?"

The sternness of my chiletto's sigh kills all flirtation. "Tell me, okay?"

"I understand.  _Prip-pri, chiletto._  Please forgive me."

She presses her lips to my cheek and all is mended. "I think you need to clean up." Nicole points out the dried blood and stained armor. "Probably get some rest too."

My traitorous body agrees and so I'm lead to the wash receptacle where I relish a long, icy shower, drying and combing my hair at leisure.

Leisure. Anywhere else in the galaxy, my personal care would be quick and hurried, a blaster on the counter next to my combs. As a mercenary, to relax my guard is to invite attack, to entice one of the countless criminal syndicates I've disturbed to take their vengeance.

On this world, time flows as abundantly as ocean water. Time to lower my guard and rest. Time to share a meal with my beloved – to make love, to cherish others, to live.

What a wondrous paradise, my chiletto's Earth.

For bedding garments, Nicole has purchased me human sleepwear – a lace-adorned 't-ong' that clasps my buttocks and a form-filling 'cami-sole' that hides my chest scars while emphasizing my breasts. Ostensibly for my comfort but thinking of the alternative reasons my lover purchased these garments thrills me to no end.

"Sweet dreams," Nicole whispers as I settle into her bed.

"They shall be of you," I whisper back, wishing so desperately that she might join me. Alas, her species is diurnal and she is due at her place of work.

“I’ve got my cell, okay? Text me if you need anything.”

_ I need you, _  I whisper in secret.  _To hold me, to treasure me. Out there, I am feared, I am loathed, I am dismissible and dispensable. Here with you, I am neither hunter, nor slave, nor outcast. I am simply Celeste._

Weighed down with these heavy thoughts, my eyes drift immediately to sleep.

_ Ahh… _


End file.
